


Raw Meat

by BlueNeutrino



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bestiality, Castration, Cock Vore, Gen, Hell, Torture, Violence, Vore, and may potentially ruin how you feel about sausages, it's pretty disgusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:05:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2211681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueNeutrino/pseuds/BlueNeutrino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in Hell, Alastair feeds Dean to a Hellhound, piece by piece.</p><p>Be warned, it's kind of sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raw Meat

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the most graphic, disgusting, violent, sadistic, gory and disturbing thing I've ever written. Consider that your warning, because it most certainly isn't as fun as my other fics.

No-one can say Alastair isn’t creative. It’s taken Dean ten years in the Pit to find that out, although now that he has, he’d do anything to go back to the days when it was nothing more than simple knives and razors slicing his skin. That almost seems merciful now, compared to the kind of tortures the demon has recently broken out. Now it’s grinding and mangling and burning and crushing he has to endure, growing more agonizing and unbearable with each passing day, but Dean knows he _has_ to bear it. He won’t break. Not now. Not ever.

“Wake up, sleepy!” The voice is harsh, cruel, and Dean knows it’s directed at him. He didn’t even realize he’d been sleeping, yet he must have been, because he can tell he’s waking by the feel of hard slaps landing with increasing force on his face. This isn’t the worst way he’s been woken. It’s unpleasant, but it beats being violently jerked into consciousness by the feel of the soles of his feet being sanded off, or his fingers crushed in a vice.

Slowly, he blinks his eyes open. The stench of putrid breath flood his nostrils as he finds himself staring into Alastair’s twisted, demonic face, black eyes glaring and mouth contorted in a leer. “Good morning, Dean. Are you ready for another day of fun?”

Dean grits his teeth, fiercely glaring back. “Fuck you.”

Alastair just chuckles, entertained by his display of aggression. “You know what I’m going to ask, don’t you?” he drawls as he takes a step back from Dean and raises a hand clutching a razor, twirling it in his fingers. “I can put a stop to all this, if you just agree to take this razor, and use it on another soul. So what do you say? No more pain or suffering for you if you simply agree to put other souls on the rack.”

Dean doesn’t answer immediately. He’s still taking in his surroundings, realizing he isn’t bound down on the rack today. Instead, chains hanging from a non-existent ceiling are wrapped around his wrists, pulling his arms above his head and stretching his body upwards, although he’s still able to plant his feet on the floor. He’s entirely naked, although it’s been that way for years. There’s no part of his body that Alastair hasn’t cut at some point or another, and clothes are an inconvenient obstruction.

Dean finds himself wondering what new kind of agony the demon has lined up, devastating fear churning inside him, but he uses this brief moment without pain to draw on what little strength he has. His lips twitch as he snarls, “Why don’t you take that razor and cram it up your ass?”

Again, Alastair only laughs. “I’d much rather cram it up yours, Dean, as you well know. But not today.” The demon lowers the blade then, and the horrendous black line of his lips twists and reshapes itself to form an “o”. He whistles, an eerie ringing sound that reverberates throughout the torture chamber, and then Dean hears the horrific sound of dog-like paws padding closer. Low, hungry growls shake the air as the hellhound comes into view.

Dean feels a wave of fear break over him as the beast trots closer, and then it’s sniffing at his legs, wet nose nudging between his knees. It’s large enough that its head would reach his hips, at full height.

He whimpers and tries to twist away, but he’s held firmly in place. Sweat beads on his skin and his chest heaves as he thinks he knows what’s coming. He’s already been a meal for hellhounds once. Please not again. _Not this. Anything but this._

Alastair grins at him. “I don’t believe you’ve met Naamah. I must say she’s a favorite of mine. I’ve never seen a hellhound with such powerful jaws or so many teeth. I have to make sure to keep her well fed, because the appetite on this one is insatiable. She simply can’t get enough of raw meat. In particular, I’ve found she has a fondness for sausages.”

Another whimper leaves Dean’s throat as he feels the hound licking up the inside of his thigh, and then that vile, coarse tongue moves to begin lapping at the end of his cock. He trembles. He knows _exactly_ where this is going, and he’s terrified. “No…” the word slips past his lips as a quiet, desperate plea.

“Not saying that you’ll be enough to fill her up,” Alastair remarks unaffectedly, glancing down at Dean’s crotch, “But the tender meat should be a treat for her.”

Teeth graze along his shaft, not yet trying to chew but testing the meat, and if he were still on Earth Dean’s sure he’d pass out from terror. “No…please…” He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but the mind numbing fear forces the words to spill from his mouth. Despite his best efforts, he’s begging.

“You know what to do, Dean, if you want me to call her off,” Alastair says, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat as tears threaten to spill from his eyes.

He can’t break. He won’t break. But he doesn’t know how he can possibly endure this…

Alastair gives him an unusually long time to consider, seeming to enjoy the conflict playing out on Dean’s face, but his expression breaks into a gleeful smile when he sees Dean give a shake of his head. “Naamah,” he commands, and the beast takes her name as permission to feast.

Dean screams. It’s the rawest, most agonized sound he’s made in a long while, tears streaming down his face, limbs thrashing helplessly as the hound devours his cock. She doesn’t bite it all off in one go, but instead chews and grinds her teeth on the flesh still attached to his body, and Dean sobs and screams and cries until his throat’s so raw he tastes blood. Claws tear into his thighs as she leaps up onto him to hold him still, and he’s so overcome by pain that his knees give out from under him.

When the beast is finally done, jaw drenched with Dean’s blood, she pads back over to her master, who pets her head affectionately. “Good girl,” Alastair praises before returning his attention to Dean. His screams have faded now to nothing but quiet, exhausted whimpers, but the pain in them is tangible. There’s a bloody, gushing mess between his legs, and nothing remains where his cock and balls used to be save for a few strings of shredded flesh.

Without speaking, Alastair lifts his razor again and strides over to Dean. Dean doesn’t look up, not having the strength to lift his head as he hangs limply by his wrists, blood pooling at his feet. The demon brings the blade down in a slashing motion across Dean’s abdomen, cutting deep enough that Dean’s intestines spill out of him. A fresh howl penetrates the air as the demon catches them. “I told you she likes sausages,” he says as he leers into Dean’s pain-stricken face. “I’ll just have to make some more.”

He then turns to walk away again, carrying Dean’s guts with him until he’s managed to pull them all from the hunter’s body. The ends cling on stubbornly inside Dean’s torso, but with a sharp tug from the demon they tear loose and trail sloppily across the floor. Dean cries out again, blood spilling out over his lips.

Alastair sets down the bloody mass off viscera onto a trolley that he’s stopped beside, and then wheels that back over towards Dean. Dean barely has the strength to react, but he’s aware enough that he can see the trolley is equipped with a meat grinder.

“It’s a shame there’s only one of you, Dean,” Alastair says as he begins to reach his hands inside the gaping hole of Dean’s stomach, searching for what remains of his internal organs. He pulls out Dean’s liver with a plop. “But the best thing about Hell is, you get remade every day! So I can do this as many times as I like.” He begins to feed the organ into the meat grinder before Dean’s eyes, converting it into mince to stuff the intestines.

Dean tries to keep his eyes open, knowing that Alastair will only cut off his eyelids if he refuses to watch, but it’s making him feel sick to his stomach. Or rather, it’s not, since a moment later he doesn’t have a stomach anymore. Tears trickle down to mingle with the blood and drool coating his chin.

It’s not long before Alastair reaches his heart, that’s still, somehow, defiantly beating before it, too, is brutally torn out and fed into the mincer. His lungs follow soon after, and then he can’t even whimper as he watches his own organs be stuffed into the long tube of his guts.

“You’ll be Naamah’s favorite treat soon,” Alastair says as he twists Dean’s intestines to make the first raw sausage, cutting it off and then throwing the hunk of meat to the hellhound. She pounces on it immediately, devouring it as hungrily as she had Dean’s cock. Dean manages to watch as Alastair continues to cut the rest into pieces, laughing as he throws each treat to the beast, before finally he gives in and allows his eyes to shut. He doesn’t even care if the demon slices off his eyelids now. This can’t possibly get any worse.

Now that Dean’s entirely empty, it only leaves more space for the terror to fill him as he realizes that they’re going to do this all again tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. And so on until Alastair grows bored. From experience, Dean knows that’s going to take a long time.


End file.
